


Come Back to Me

by anonymous639



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Felix is Confused, High School, M/M, Peter is a creeper, Rating May Change, Rebirth, Tags to be added, This is What it Takes to Fix My Heart, Weak Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous639/pseuds/anonymous639
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Malcolm "Peter Pan" and Felix meet again in the next life as Peter Braxton and Vincent Anders. Peter remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

On the edge of the forest sat a boy, huddled in on himself and shivering from cold. He had forgotten how close to autumn is was, and foolishly left his jacket at his house. Forcing himself to concentrate on the bundle in his hands, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and solidified his stance. Bringing it to his face, he breathed in a hundred memories, his heart releasing a pained longing.

It was just a scarf, ragged with age and stained with blood in one corner, but it was also more than that. Settling the cloth on his thighs, he carefully unwrapped it to reveal a myriad of useless trinkets worth less than a dollar each. Hair pieces made with shiny black feathers and bracelets made of bone and wood alike, they were precious to him in a way that was terrifying.

The boy's breath stuttered as his mind unwillingly flashed back to a certain other boy, the original owner of these worthless-but-meaningful possessions of another time, another life.

Bright eyes sharpened. His hands clenched into fists.

The boy absolutely refused for this to be the end. Willing himself to believe, to try magic in a world with so little of it, he commanded, voice unshaken and authoritative as always, _“Come back to me.”_

Then, without a second thought, he bundled everything back up, climbed to his feet, and marched back into town.

His boy should be here soon, if not, then he would simply have to go find _him_.

.x.~.x.

Vincent Anders was rather displeased to be awake at the ungodly hour of 2:23a.m.; he'd barely caught three hours of sleep. However, it had brought good news-the papers had gone through, and the condo was now his.

Rolling to his feet with surprising skill and flexibility, Vincent changed into black slacks and a white dress shirt, pausing in front of the mirror to run his fingers through his blond hair-he should try to brush it, he knew, but the tangles were to the point where it was no longer tameable. Other than than that, he looked presentable-if you ignored the very _large_ , very _noticeable_ diagonal scars under his eye. He liked to think his gray eyes made up for it with their silvery tinge. Anyhow, it was time to move.

It took less than an hour for Vincent to pack his meager belongings in a single duffel bag, cramming anything school-related into his backpack. Catching the first bus, he arrived in the town of Chaparral within the day, having not gotten off even for lunch.

The town was small, and had a dusty feel to it. There was a main square with three streets featuring local businesses running off of it, a Wal-Mart, two elementary schools, and one high school-the one he would be attending for his senior year. The surprising part was the number of people out and about, not really doing anything at all but sitting and staring at nothing. This was the kind of place that starred in cheesy science fiction movies.

Fortunately for his overtired body, his condo was a short walk from the bus stop, and he had successfully avoided conversation with the locals milling about, giving him curious looks.

All in all, the condo was better than he had expected.

The entryway led straight into the living room, furnished with a worn chocolate brown couch, a rickety end table, and a years-old television sitting sullenly upon the stained beige carpeting. To the right was the kitchen, with black and cream checkerboard tiling, aged black appliances, cheap counters, and sparse cabinets.

On the left wall of the living room, there were two doors; one led to a bathroom, the other, a bedroom. The former was relatively clean and came with a plain black shower curtain, but claustrophobic. The latter was barren, populated by a single set of drawers and a full-sized bed with a forest green comforter.

Shoulders slackened just at the sight of the bed. Dropping the duffel bag that contained all his personal belongings and the backpack filled with his school things, he collapsed on the bed and relaxed for what felt like the first time in years, falling into what was possibly the best sleep of his life.

Alas, it was not meant to last.

His phone alarm was going off, alerting him to the fact that he had to get up now and begin the job hunt-the sooner, the better. He'd called a few places ahead when he was finalizing the rental agreement, and five places were hiring. Hopefully he got one, best case: two.

Sighing, he wrenched himself out of the cocoon he'd made and got to his feet, grabbing at his cell phone. After checking himself in the mirror real quick, he retrieved a leather wallet, the condo's key, and a black folder.

Then, he stepped out of the condo and nearly ran straight into someone. Pretending to be in a hurry, the boy rushed out and began the moderate trek to the business area. Once there, he looked around searching for one of the plausible workplaces. Spotting Hunter's Bar and Grill on a street corner, he made his way over.

Vincent found the atmosphere of the place ideal, similar to places he'd been before with its many windows, dim lighting, and nicely accentuated décor that reminded him of the actual forest surrounding the town. The sun here wasn't exactly the brightest, but the natural light was effective, and Vincent hoped he wouldn't have to pull many night shifts, though he knew he would.

Walking up to the hostess stand, he asked for a job application, and offered a rare smile in thanks when she handed it over.

Sitting at a small two-person table, he took out a pen and began filing out the paperwork, only pausing to order a mountain dew when the waitress came by to ask.

After taking a sip of the drink, he realized how hungry he was. Not wanting a full meal, Vincent ordered jalapeno poppers, which arrived with perfect timing the moment he was done. Putting the application in with copies of his resume and introductory letter, he turned his attention to the food, idly popping one in after another and almost moaning at the exquisite flavor; it had been at least a year since he'd had these.

Unfortunately, Vincent's trance-like state was interrupted. The unwanted intruder? An admittedly attractive boy sitting a few tables down and to the left of him. Green eyes not hidden by light brown hair were watching his mouth attentively as he ate the morsels, ignoring the crowd of boorish young men in either their late teens or early twenties around him.

Vincent wondered how he had missed the group as he was usually observant. They weren't easy to miss, given their size- _seven_ people. They weren't obnoxiously loud, but they had a presence to them. He also wondered how long the one boy had been watching him, and why he was not more disturbed by it than he was.

That was when the boy gracefully rose to his feet with a smirk, and Vincent realized he had been caught.

In seconds, the seat across from him was occupied by a stranger with a kingly aura, and Vincent waited. Twin emeralds locked with his silver eyes, an eyebrow rising in challenge. Mirroring the expression, Vincent continued to wait.

The other boy chuckled. “I'm Peter. Who might you be?”

He was _not_ answering that.

“Quiet type, huh? That's fine-I like it, actually.”

Snorting in derision, Vincent occupied himself by making the already-neat papers look neater.

“Felix.”

Startling, Vincent stared at the boy across from him, wondering why that name seemed familiar. It wasn't exactly a common name, like the equally familiar 'Peter'.

“Since you wouldn't answer my question, I had to name you myself,” Peter shrugged dismissively, practically lounging in the chair and fiddling with the kitchen knife in a way that was probably meant to be threatening.

Vincent wasn't even phased- _outwardly_. On the inside, he was trying to silence the little part of him that was charmed by Peter's antics.

“So, Felix, what brought you to town? Family issues?”

Vincent flinched at the guess, eyes widening with just a tinge of fear. The guess was too close, _way too close_.

Peter was suddenly _in his face_ , smirk widening as he watched Vincent's emotions play out on his face. “Touchy subject, Felix?”

'Felix' gritted his teeth, furrowed his brows, and _glared_ at Peter.

Who did nothing but chuckle and raise his hands in mock defense.

Thankfully, he was wise enough to abandon that subject and get out of his space. He was not wise enough to take the hint and _leave_.

“You going to Chaparral High, Felix? I am, it's going to be my senior year. Should be my junior, but I skipped a grade a couple years ago. Too advanced for my peers.”

Vincent's expression was carefully blank, ignoring the one-sided conversation in favor of his poppers.

“Well, as fun as this was, I'm afraid I have to be going. Duty calls,” Peter informed, gesturing to his friends, who were all standing up and preparing to leave. They seemed to be looking for their lost member, not noticing them yet. “Though, to be honest, I would much rather spend the rest of the evening talking at you; you have such _lovely_ reactions.”

Vincent panicked, his fist flying before his mind caught up with it. However, it never made contact with the target.

Instead, Vincent's fist was being held hostage by one of Peter's hands. For a moment, the blonde feared the brunette was planning on breaking his wrist, or using that handy knife resting on the table. His concerns were sadly unfounded as Peter's smirk widened-if that was possible-and he gently unclenched the fist, holding it delicately as if it was precious.

“Even in this world, I still have the advantage,” he whispered cryptically, as if it made _sense_. Winking, Peter pressed a chaste kiss to the small hollow of Vincent's wrist.

Shuddering, Vincent was quick to pull his arm back and cradle it to his chest, face betraying his confusion.

Shaking his head in amusement, Peter got to his feet and saluted him. “Good night, Felix,” he drawled. Before he left, Peter snagged a popper, laughing at the look on Vincent's face as he did so.

After Vincent turned in his application and left the restaurant, he could have sworn he felt eyes on him-mocking green ones, to be exact, though he never caught his stalker in the act, not wanting to reveal the fact that he knew about him. The eyes followed him as he turned in application after application at any place that was hiring. On his way home, however, Vincent ducked into an alley, climbed the wall deft as a spider monkey, and leaped over the edge. He then ran across the roof, dropped to the alley there, and escaped into the coffee shop with the excuse of getting a green tea frappuccino; it wasn't like he would be getting much sleep that night anyhow, thanks to his nap. By the time he got his drink and left, the eyes were gone.

It was only after he'd made it back to his condo that he realized that Peter, the little shit, had _stolen his key right off the table_. It had to have been after the blonde had tried punching him; he had been staring incredulously at Peter, not paying the slightest attention.

Staring blankly at his locked door, his eye _almost_ twitched. At least he knew how to pick locks, seeing as calling a locksmith would have to wait until after he'd made some money....He just had to make sure no one saw him doing it.

.x.~.x.

Peter could not be more pleased at the moment.

Felix's key was a welcome presence in his pocket, though he had been unable to follow the blonde home. It wasn't a bothersome thing, it merely assured him that his lieutenant's instincts were as uncanny as ever; Peter hadn't known he'd been found out until his prey had literally vanished.

No matter, Felix would not be able to avoid him for long.

Peter leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, enjoying the silence of the room. It was the first day of senior year, fifteen minutes before first hour started. He was surprised no one else had showed up yet.

Rolling his shoulders, he unfolded his schedule and began memorizing it.

1st Hr.........British and World Literature...Rm. 631

2nd Hr........Biology II................................Rm. 503

3rd Hr........European History.....................Rm. 527

4th Hr........French IV.................................Rm. 612

LUNCH

5th Hr........Calculus...................................Rm. 521

6th Hr........Art History...............................Rm. 601

7th Hr........Psychology...............................Rm. 605

Crinkling the paper into a ball, he threw it in the trash bin on the other side of the room. Before he turned back towards the front, silver eyes met his own and a lazy smirk formed on Peter's face.

“Hello, Felix,” he greeted, waving at the blonde.

“My name's not Felix.”

“Isn't it?” Oh, the _irony._...He would remember soon enough.

“Give me back my key.”

“Trade you for a look at your schedule?”

“Why....Nevermind.” Sighing in resignation, Felix fished his schedule out of his back pocket and gave it to Peter, putting his key back in it to replace the loss.

While Peter had liked having the key, he knew he wouldn't _need_ it once he found Felix's place of residence, and though he could easily figure out the schedule himself, _of course_ , the thought of Felix willingly offering it was appealing.

“Sit with me,” he offered, gesturing to the seat next to him. He had meant it, but still hadn't expected for his blonde to take him up on the offer.

Peter smiled at him innocently, but received a glare in response. Chuckling, he unfolded the slip.

1st Hr.........British and World Literature...Rm. 631

2nd Hr........German IV...............................Rm. 513

3rd Hr.........European History....................Rm. 527

4th Hr.........Anatomy and Physiology........Rm. 610

LUNCH

5th Hr.........Calculus...................................Rm. 521

6th Hr.........Woodshop................................Rm. 401

7th Hr.........Psychology...............................Rm. 605

“Looks like we have four classes together,” Peter observed, slowly folding the paper back up before giving it back to the nonplussed blonde.

“So, what _is_ your name?”

“Vincent,” Felix relinquished, pointedly not looking at him.

“'Felix' suits you better.”

“It's not my name.”

“It is for me,” Peter arrogantly declared, delighting in the annoyed expression it earned him. The blonde would deny it, he knew, but he had caught that ghost of a smile before the taller had hidden it away.

Their exchange was sadly interrupted with the arrival of a horde of students followed by their teacher.

From then on, every attempt Peter made at conversation was spurned. Nevertheless, he continued to follow Felix around from class to class, even the ones they did not share, choosing to view the blatant rejections as challenges; it would be boring if Felix gave in so easily, after all.

At the end of the school day, Peter could count on one hand the number of times he'd been able to coax words out of the stoic blonde. He tried to ignore the fact that the other boy hadn't shown an iota of emotion that wasn't negative towards him the entire day. Catching the irritated eyes staring back at him, Peter pouted. Pointedly. And snickered when he saw Felix's lips twitch.

He couldn't help but laugh at his own failure to find Felix's home, though he had successfully narrowed it down to the four condos lined up in a row. Deciding he would come back early in the morning and see which one Felix came out of-because he was already a 'suspicious character' without peering through strangers' windows and knocking at their doors-Peter turned on his heel and walked back to the usual place, Hunter's.

.x.~.x.

_Birds. Think about birds. **Ignore him.**_

Those three lines of thought had been circulating in Vincent's head since the end of the school day, trying to pretend that his stalker was a couple yards behind him. He did manage to lose him at one point, but thought he saw the brunette on-and-off his trail again twice after that.

But, that was _unimportant. Focus._

Problem was, he didn't have much to focus _on_. There were absolutely no homework assignments yet, and so Vincent found himself propped up against the couch, eyes locked on the television screen.

It was just a nature show, and one he had seen before at that, but he was still annoyed when he heard his phone go off. Grabbing his phone, he jabbed the answer key and put it up to his ear.

His luck was changing: his application for Hunter's had been accepted, though the hours requested ensured that he would not be able to seek a second job what with school to work around.

That was fine; he would prefer it, actually. Hunter's had been packed when he was there, and had the feeling of a place that had continuous business. The wages were pathetic, but that was what tips were for, and would easily cover the bills. Ends would be met, he knew that. Besides, he'd already learned the hard way not to push an overtired body too far.

He just hoped his 'new friend' would become a little less interested in him. The day had been wasted on syllabuses and moronic, randomly assigned get-to-know-your-classmates activities, not allowing much time for Peter to pester him.

Vincent didn't know _why_ the he felt the other boy's presence was to be avoided at nearly any cost, it was simply that whenever he was around him he got this uncomfortable feeling that this Peter already knew every little thing about him, and that Vincent knew him, too.

 


	2. The Second One

“So how was your night, Felix?” Peter asked, taking his seat next to him.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Peter paused, a hesitant look crossing over his face. “Bother you that much, does it? Well don't fret, it's nothing malevolent. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“That's not that reassuring.”

“I guess you'll just have to trust me,” Peter observed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes after that, slavishly copying the lit. notes.

Then, “You never told me about your night.”

“It was fine.”

“Mine wasn't. I barely got an hour of sleep,” he whined.

“Intriguing,” Vincent absently acknowledged.

“I agree.”

Sighing in aggravation, Vincent focused his attention on the brunette beside him. “Why am I even talking to you?”

“Because I'm _here_ and I'm _asking_?” Peter offered, flashing teeth with an almost-believable smile.

Humming noncommittally, Vincent turned his eyes back to the teacher.

“Did you get that job at Hunter's?”

“Yes," Vincent admitted. "You a regular there?”

“You'll see me almost every night,” Peter informed, beaming. “Have any plans for after high school?”

“Okay, so now that we've established why _I'm_ talking to _you_ , why are _you_ talking to _me_?”

“I'll do you one better: Why do my reasons matter so much to you? Why, why, why.”

“Because if this is just your way of entertaining yourself, I suggest you look elsewhere,” Vincent threatened.

.x.~.x.

Vincent was on his way to German IV when he felt a hand enclose around his wrist and pull him into an alcove. Reacting on instinct, the blonde spun, grabbing his attacker by the shoulders and slamming him against the wall, pinning him there with one arm along his collarbone. Vincent was about to reach for his knife with his free hand when he recognized the boy.

“Is that any way to greet a friend, Felix?” Peter chastised. “Good reaction time, though.”

“You startled me,” Vincent excused, backing off.

“Expecting an attack?”

“No, it's just hard not to react like that when people grab me and pull me away from the crowd. It's suspicious.”

“So you're the paranoid type, then?” Peter teased. “I can work with that.”

“What do you want?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“That depends on why you want to know,” Vincent said.

Laughing softly under his breath, Peter crossed the short distance between them, crowding Vincent against the wall opposite. Placing his hands on the wall and leaning to where the blonde could feel the brunette's body heat, Peter leaned his head down, breathing into his captive's ear.

“Let me go.”

“You don't want that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have you here,” Peter reasoned, his hands sliding down and wrapping around Vincent's hips. “Felix, I want you to come out with me tonight. I will be at your door at exactly one o'clock in the morning, so be ready.”

Leaning back to look into Vincent's eyes, he chuckled at the confusion he saw there. “Don't worry, we won't be doing anything too bad. Just having some fun. A night out won't kill you. I'll s-”

“Mr. Braxton, Mr. Anders!” a stern, masculine voice called. “Step away from each other. As I'm sure you know, PDA is not tolerated on-campus. You two are already late for class!”

Complying with a roll of his eyebrows, Peter continued, “ _As I was saying_ , I'll see you tonight. I have some _business_ to attend to at the moment. No rest for the wicked, you understand.”

Turning on his heel, the boy stalked off, giving a _very pointed_ glare at the unfortunate teacher that had interrupted them.

Leaving Vincent frozen against the wall, one thought stuck on repeat: _What the actual_ _ **fuck**_ _?!_

.x.~.x.

Training was hell. For the next two weeks, Vincent's only pay was going to be _some_ of the tips he made, as the one training him-a total bitch named Samantha-felt it fair to collect, even though she spent most of her time watching him do her job for her. The wages wouldn't have been much, but there would've been _something_.

Despite himself, the stresses of the first day and everything that went with it made him eager for his promised night out with Peter. When he saw the brunette enter the restaurant with a pack of 'ruffians' at his heels, a rare smile broke out on his face. Noticing the questioning look Samantha fave him, he toned it down to his usual 'stoic tough guy' expression, grabbed some menus, and made his way over.

Peter greeted him with a smirk and a wink before ordering a coke, the others following his example. Jotting it down, he excused himself politely before running off to make their drinks.

The group was there longer then expected, staying around an hour after clearing their plates to drink and talk about miscellaneous things the mostly-absent Vincent couldn't keep up with-not that he was trying.

Vincent felt ready to fall asleep on his feet by the time he was cut around eleven thirty. Thankfully, the chilly air woke him up enough for the trek back to his lonely little condo.

After stretching his limbs and tearing off his clothes, Vincent collapsed under the covers and, after setting his phone alarm to wake him up in an hour, fell asleep.

.x.~.x.

It was three minutes to one in the morning, and Vincent felt foolish. There was a boy he didn't know who possessed cleverness, strength, and at least six young men looking ready for a fight themselves. And this boy had invited him out for who knows what after making sexual overtures at him.

And there Vincent sat, waiting for him to show up so they could do...Whatever the brunette had planned for them to do.

This was ignoring the fact that the boy kept calling him 'Felix'. That right there was enough to make Vincent twitchy.

And he still planned on going along with this. Vincent's instincts told him to go, to trust this 'Peter', and they had never failed him; emotion and logic had pulled him out of the frying pan but then threw him into the fire.

“There's a first time for everything,” Vincent reminded himself with a humorless laugh.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts before they could go down darker paths. Rising, Vincent walked towards the door, opening it to reveal Peter's smirking face.

“So you did follow me home last night,” he accused.

“Well, hello to you too,” Peter responded, sidestepping his way into the condo. “Actually, I never followed you here. I waited down the street long enough to watch you leave this morning, but, technicalities.” Turning to him and raising a brow, Peter continued, “ _Lovely place_ , by the way.”

“It's cheap and inhabitable,” Vincent said with a shrug.

“Well if your standards improve you can always bunk with me,” Peter offered with a leer.

Vincent just _stared_ at him for a moment.

“Too soon?”

“Yes.”

“Hmph. Let's be off then,” Peter said, linking arms with Vincent and leading them out the door. “It's going to be a fun night, Felix. Be excited.”

“Oh, I'm _bursting_ with it.”

“Excellent. Here, wear these.”

“Gloves?”

“You _might_ need them.”

On they walked into the street. Then suddenly, Peter had a crowbar and was swinging it into the passenger window of a jade 2007 Sebring. The blaring alarm made Vincent flinch. Fortunately, the brunette was quick to turn it off. However, the owner had already appeared.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” the man, a burly fellow with jet black hair and chocolate eyes, yelled.

“Felix, kill him and put the body in the trunk,” Peter ordered, handing him a dagger.

Operating on auto-pilot, Vincent approached the man in three long, confident strides. Ducking the aggravated man's graceless punch, he grabbed the man's arm, pulling them around so they were back-to-chest, and plunged the blade into his temple.

Throwing the corpse over his shoulder, he lumbered over to the back of the car and, after Peter popped the trunk, completed his task.

It was only when he was back in the passenger seat that he came back to himself.

“Why did you order me to kill him?”

“I own everyone and everything in this county, the idiot should know that. The moment he questioned it he became a loose end to tie up. You handled it.”

Vincent was silent for a moment, not able to understand half of what was said. “Don't I become a loose end, then?”

Peter turned to him, startled. “Do you honestly think I will hurt you?”

“Are you saying you won't?” Vincent shot back, hands clenching nervously in his lap.

Peter's mouth opened, closed. He turned away, staring straight ahead with a troubled expression that made Vincent's heart clench.

“Peter-”

“I will not make that same mistake again, I promise you.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Vincent responded, not quite sure what the brunette was talking about but going along with it anyway. “Are you alright?”

“No, but I will be,” Peter answered without wavering.

“I don't doubt you, you know,” Vincent said, immediately regretting it. Stupid, nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter.

His regret dissipated when he saw Peter's face, the way it softened with relief, contentment, nostalgia, and an emotion Vincent was unfamiliar with.

“I'm glad. We're here.”

Startled, Vincent turned to look out the windshield. He hadn't been paying any attention in the least. They had left town at some point, going into the woods and up the driveway of an elaborate two-story cabin.

“This is my aunt's. She moved to Arizona, but let me stay in her house and use her cabin here,” Peter explained.

“Alright,” Vincent responded, not sure what else to say.

The two boys got out of the car and walked up to the doorstep.

“Why did you help me kill that man? Have you killed before?” Peter asked, pushing Vincent up against the front door.

Closing his eyes, Vincent heaved a deep breath. “Yes, I have. To survive. I can't say why I helped you, you just...”

“I just what?”

“I wasn't thinking, alright? It was automatic. You told me to, and it was _okay_. It felt right to do it, like if I didn't he would be bad, almost like a betrayal. I don't know how to...”

Opening his eyes, he almost regretted it. Peter had this _intent_ look on his face that made Vincent feel like he was a frog about to be dissected.

Then Peter smiled. “It's alright, I understand.” Opening the door, he waited for Vincent to stabilize himself and enter before speaking. “We need to change clothes. Burn everything, dump the car.”

“Why steal the car if you're just going to dump it?”

“My car's being repaired, buses don't run this late, and I'm not fond of walking for miles to get here. Didn't think you would be either.”

“Why go through the trouble now? You should have your car back soon.”

“And risk you disappearing again between then and now?”

“Right.” How else was he supposed to respond to that?

The interior of the cabin was done in tastefully vibrant shades of green and neutral browns. Every piece of furniture was ornate and made of some obscure wood. The bedroom Peter directed him to alone was the size of Vincent's entire condo, and he wondered if he should change the mental label of this place from 'cabin' to 'mansion'. It had a luxurious jade California king-sized bed with a dozen embroidered pillows, two cloud-like chocolate couches, a fluffy scarlet moon chair, a high-definition television, two nightstands, a set of drawers, a desk, a black mini refrigerator, and a coffee table with a glass top.

“There's two other rooms like this, if you don't like cuddling,” Peter commented.

“We're staying the night?”

“Catching the bus at the edge of the woods in the morning.”

Sighing, Vincent nodded without a word, already knowing that arguing would get them nowhere.

“Here's some stuff for you to wear,” Peter said, handing him a green-and-black flannel and dark jeans. In his own hands he held a neutral green button-up and black Dickies pants.

“What's with you and green?”

“Favorite color. What's yours?”

“Don't have one,” Vincent told him.

“Oh, so _favorites_. Let me guess: three-way tie between gray, green, and purple,” Peter predicted.

“Wrong.”

“Never.”

“How do you even know these things? Straight answer, this time,” Vincent demanded, leveling a gaze made of steel the brunette's way.

“Let's say we were close in a past life.”

“You're serious,” the blonde said incredulously, eyebrows rising.

“As nightshade.”

“What's that?” He was becoming weary of asking questions, but more so in being _so lost_ whenever Peter said anything.

“What would be the fun in telling you when you can find out on your own? Now come on, after we finish up on business we are relaxing, eating smores, and watching Disney,” Peter declared.

“Disney?” Vincent repeated, befuddled.

“Hey, Disney is your _god_.”

“Yeah, Disney is my god. And you're my king,” the blonde stated with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“I knew you would understand.”

The two split up long enough to change, and then met again in the entryway.

Walking around in Peter's old clothes was awkward at best. The articles were far too small, hugging in both the right and wrong places in ways that made it difficult to move and nearly painful to do it with any sense of fluidity. Thankfully, the boots Peter forced onto him fit much better.

Peter, the asshole, seemed to like them though, by the way leered. Ignoring the looks, and flashbacks to the moments that involved him being shoved against things, Vincent focused on setting up the fire, pouring ridiculous amounts of gasoline over the wood and building a rock wall to separate the little section from the rest of the woodland.

They had driven down the dirt road for a few miles before getting out and hauling their things through the forest until they got to a suitable location.

By the time their clothes, gloves, and shoes were in the circle along with the body, there was but an hour left before dawn. Leaving Vincent to make sure _everything_ burned and the ashes were scattered, Peter left to take care of the vehicle, promising to return before the sun breached the horizon.

Sitting against a tree, Vincent went over what had happened recently in his head. He had been here for two and a half days, and thus far, he had earned himself a stalker/kinda-sorta best friend/possible-ish future boyfriend who was definitely a gang leader of some sort, enrolled in school, gotten a job, killed a man and stole his car, gotten himself stuck at a cabin-mansion-whatever with the formerly mentioned stalker/etc./etc., and finally lit expensive necessities on fire. With a corpse.

_Absolutely lovely_.

Or, to repeat his earlier sentiment: _What the actual_ _ **fuck**_ _?!_

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” Vincent breathed out, watching the flames begin to die. That had been much faster than expected. It usually took a couple hours for an entire body to burn to ash, no matter how much gasoline and flammable things you put with it. Thoroughly confused but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, Vincent rose to his feet and walked over, kicking dirt into the fire to help it die down.

Following Peter's directions to the letter, 'cause _apparently_ that's what he did now, he spread the ashes all around the surrounding area, venturing as far as he dared from the agreed clearing Peter was to meet him in.

Once he returned, he went back to his initial query: Why was doing all of this, _for Peter_? It would make more sense if he was doing this to cover himself after a serious lapse in judgment, but no. It was like an impossible bond existed between the two of them, one he didn't remember forming, but subconsciously recognized and reacted to. He wondered if he really _had_ met this 'Peter' before. He had lived in Arizona before, and that's where he said his aunt was; it certainly fit more than the brunette's convoluted 'past lives' theory.

His thinking time was sadly cut short with Peter's return.

“Well done, Felix. You're such a good boy,” the brunette teased, wrapping an arm around Vincent's waist in a way that straddled the line between comfortable and sexual.

Turning his head away so Peter couldn't see his mild blush, he gave a noncommittal huff. “You promised me smores.”

Throwing his head back, Peter laughed, and laughed, so hard Vincent worried he might hurt himself. “That I did. Back to the cabin, then.” Keeping his arm around the blonde, Peter led the two of them through the trees, around a ravine, and over a decrepit bridge over an intimidating river before they finally made it back. Along the way, they each traded questions and answers, though they kept the conversation harmless. Peter found out Vincent's favorite TV show was _Shameless,_ Vincent found out Peter's favorite ice cream was cookie dough, and so on and so forth.

When they finally made it back, the sky was a mottled mixture of orange and pink. Unanimously deciding that smores could wait until tomorrow, or _whenever_ , they both collapsed on the same bed from earlier. Peter got up once, to put the movie in, and then flopped back down.

“ _Peter Pan_?” Vincent questioned, turning his head to look at the boy lounging beside him.

“Favorite childhood movie. I've always identified with it, though certain things will always rub me the wrong way. For one, where's Pan's lieutenant?”

Vincent shrugged wordlessly, tilting his head to watch the screen.

“What's your favorite childhood movie, Felix?”

“ _The Outsiders_.”

“Young people struggling to survive in a world that doesn't understand them, destined for tragedy. That seems to be a theme for you.”

“Yeah, you can say I relate to it.”

Neither one of them made it through the film before falling asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disney /is/ your god. 
> 
> Also, nothing from Peter's side this chapter. I'm trying to keep it more from Vincent's/Felix's perspective so you can see how things are progressing from that end.
> 
> Hope you liked, and don't be afraid to leave a comment. :)


	3. The Third One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is late...For me, anyway. Sorry about that, I had three projects due in the last week. I could barely get the time together to write this up!

Felix was adorable when he slept, but Peter couldn't spend all morning mindlessly staring at him. Cupping the blonde's cheek, his smile turned into a smirk as he thought.

_Today was the day._ He could feel it.

Felix groaned, and Peter smiled as he watched the blonde fight consciousness, brows furrowing in irritation at the warm sunlight shining onto his face and making it awfully hard to slip back into sleep.

Taking some mercy, Peter rolled out of bed and closed the bronze curtains. He was tempted to return to the comfortable cocoon, but opted for breakfast instead.

.x.~.x.

Vincent finally gave in and abandoned his fight for sleep. Opening his eyes-

He nearly jumped out of his skin because Peter was _right there, watching_ him with a self-satisfied smirk and a breakfast tray.

“Well good morning, sweetheart. You're just in time for breakfast,” Peter sung out, a teasing lilt in his voice that _did not_ make Vincent flush.

“The bus-”

“Nevermind that, we overslept. I thought we'd take advantage of this,” Peter informed, sitting on the bed beside Vincent and putting the tray between them. “We'll have ourselves some breakfast in bed and finish our movie. Fit for kings.”

“Kings of Neverland,” Vincent quipped, appreciating the food laid before him. Scrambled eggs, bacon, everything bagels, and French toast. A right-on feast.

“Neverland has no kings, only Pan.”

“Isn't he one?” Vincent idly returned. “When did you have time to make all this?”

“It's afternoon. Seems like you haven't had a good sleep in a while, Felix, Queen of Neverland.”

“What-?!”

“You said yourself that Pan is king, so the only position open is 'queen',” Peter argued, laughing at Vincent's nonplussed expression.

“So what are you, one of the Lost Boys? Maybe that lieutenant you were talking about last night?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Peter stated, getting all mock-serious. “Didn't I tell you? I'm Peter, _Peter Pan_.”

Vincent laughed at the proclamation. “Of course you are.”

“As for a lieutenant, I don't think I would need one with a queen there to keep the boys in line,” Peter mused, smile widening.

Hearing his stomach growl, Vincent was ready to abandon the conversation in favor of food, so he said, “Thanks for breakfast,” and built his plate.

“Welcome,” Peter said, reaching over to the nightstand for the remote to turn their movie back on.

Shoveling eggs down his throat, Vincent half-watched the redheaded boy tried to teach the children how to fly on-screen. When he bit into the French toast, a teeny noise of pleasure escaped him before he slammed a hand across his mouth. Peter smirked at him, saying, “I put extra of all the good stuff in there.”

Nodding in understanding, Vincent proceeded to ignore the brunette, switching to the safer bagels. If he ate any more of that French toast, his usual bowl of cereal would be inedible.

When his stomach was full to bursting, Vincent positioned the tray closer to Peter and leaned back against the headboard, stretching his long legs.

“Would you go to Neverland, if you could?” Peter suddenly asked. Well, not so suddenly, as the children had just arrived there.

“Hm, tough question,” Vincent admitted, trying to force his brain into thinking.

“Why is that?” Peter actually looked surprised.

“Yeah, the idea of an escape to a place with no grown-up problems and none of the bullshit you find here sounds appealing, but...”

“But what?”

“But that's part of the problem. I don't know what I'd _do_ there. I'd be lost.”

Now the brunette was all amused. “There's plenty. Making bracelets, blankets, hair pieces, shelters, tools, weapons, and clothes. Tending to wounds. Drawing up a battle plan.”

“Sounds like I'd have my work cut out for me,” Vincent mused.

“Oh, I have every confidence.”

Snorting, Vincent turned his head to look at Peter, eyes narrowing.

“What?” Peter asked, the picture of innocence.

“I swear this is some sort of inside joke...”

“How do you figure that?”

“Not sure yet,” Vincent said with a sigh, turning back to the television.

“Don't take too long, my queen.”

“ _Peter_.”

Said brunette raised his hands up in surrender, but his smirk stayed in place.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Vincent decided to let it go-for now.

“Say, Felix, tell me about yourself,” Peter casually demanded, turning on his side to better assess the blonde.

“Already have.”

“Oh no, not stuff like your current list of favorites. What's your story?” Peter clarified.

“There is no story. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Yeah, I'm going to wager you're lying to me.”

“Not lying! It's not an entertaining piece, my life. Not fit to be called a story, anyhow, and not one I'd be sharing anytime soon.”

Vincent froze when he realized how that came out...Almost a _challenge_. No way in _hell_ was Peter letting it go now. And there was that dreaded glint in emerald eyes, smirk widening just so.

“Tell me yours I'll tell you mine.”

“I don't find you that interesting,” Vincent said, because he was not giving in that easily.

“Of course you do. The problem is that you don't want to admit, even to yourself, that someone's busted through that wall of yours. Maybe it's fate, and maybe you should stop fighting it,” Peter argued, voice pensive in a carefree fashion, though the words and the look in his eyes both had goosebumps rising on Vincent's skin.

He didn't believe in things like that. In true love or fate; nothing but chemicals in the brain. But with Peter it almost seemed like it _could_ be real, in some world or other. It could _work_.

Assuming Peter's serious, and not playing a game. Assuming Vincent isn't letting pretty words turn him into a sentimental fool, something that could very well get him killed or worse. He had seen it happen too many times. It was too big a risk, one Vincent couldn't afford making this late in the game, much as he had wanted to ever since the first horrible attempt at small talk Peter had made at Hunter's what-felt-like-forever-but-was-only-two-days ago.

“Do you really think three days is enough time to bust through a wall? It's not there. You're seeing things that aren't there, Peter, I'm sorry.”

Peter didn't look the slightest bit encumbered. “Three days? No. A few centuries? Definitely.”

“What are you-”

“Felix. Do you trust me?”

“I suppose so,” Vincent warily answered, eyeing the other boy in two-parts confusion and one-part fear.

“Yes. Or no.”

And Peter was being one hundred percent serious for once.

“Yes,” Vincent replied. Hopefully, this one little risk didn't blow up in his face too badly.

“I want to try something. But you're going to have to _believe_ every word I'm telling you for it to work,” Peter informed, sitting up and crisscrossing his legs. Vincent was quick to follow his example. “For one, we did know each other in a past life. We were close, though not as close as I wanted, or you, I'd bet.”

Vincent stared at him like he had grown a second head. “And you would remember this because?”

“My son. He found me, made me remember. Look, you're just going to have to trust me.”

If Vincent believed all this, for a moment, then...”Something tells me I did that once, and it didn't end well. If any of this is actually true and you didn't put something in our food.”

Peter opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. “Alright, I can't argue that.”

So Peter told him the basics of everything that would come to mind-skipping over details like kidnapping his great-grandson and tearing out his Felix's heart. Vincent probably wouldn't react well to either.

Until finally, he got to the more recent and relevant things:

Three years ago, Peter had been visited by a long lost relative from another life. Dear Rumple had been discontent with his father's return to this world, more so at the fact that the boy didn't remember him one bit. A potion worked well enough to change that, so Rumple could finally be satisfied knowing his father would suffer the same loneliness he had, and without the magic to so much as light a candle.

If it hadn't been for Belle and her _fire_ , Rumple probably would have killed him. Again. (She still lectured him, much to Peter's amusement.) Peter rather liked her, but she was far too 'goody-goody', going so far as to give him some of Felix's old things that had been kept by the boy-Henry-before she took them. Belle knew far more than she let on, that much was clear.

However, Rumple had become overconfident. Peter had only swallowed half the potion when its effects took hold, and the idiot didn't confiscate the rest. Either he thought it was useless to the brunette, or he simply failed to notice.

It could have been the latter, but the former was more likely. Peter had killed off the last of his allies and the potion's conditions were created to prevent its use in mischief.

The potion had the capability to make someone remember their most recent past life, but the person administering it had to be someone that they had known in both lives. Also, a personal item from the former life had to be burned and the smoke inhaled immediately prior to the drinking of the potion.

'Peter Braxton' had been terrified, and went so far as to call it 'witchcraft'. 'Vincent Anders' would hopefully have a better reaction to the process.

Dear Rumple had gravely miscalculated. All he had done was give his father a new playground, a youth that was real and not borne of magic, and a new opportunity to be free of his unwanted son, once and for all. And he most certainly wouldn't be lonely, either.

Vincent was inclined to believe what the brunette's story, insane as it seemed.

“Okay, we'll try it. But if it doesn't work, I'm going to _hurt_ you and check us both in at the psych ward,” the blonde said. It wasn't as though he had much to lose. Either it worked, and the brunette wasn't crazy, or it didn't, in which case the punishment would be well-deserved.

“If it does?”

“Then I owe you _my_ life story. From _this_ life, anyway. We'll see about the rest.”

.x.~.x.

Vincent knew he should have been surprised at the feather hair pieces and bracelets made of a combination of wood, bone, and string.

But no. He was preoccupied by the _green_ smoke elicited by the fire, the same shade as the 'potion'-poison, probably-sitting in front of him in a glass cup.

Vincent had told Peter he would give him this one chance and he was going to do it. There was no backing out.

The smoke smelled like forest, and spice, and something that made goosebumps rise on Vincent's skin. Something foreboding, that firmly reminded Vincent of the _wrongness_ of this entire scenario.

However. Vincent was many things, but he was not a liar, and definitely not a coward.

Giving one last wary glance in Peter's general direction, because he honestly did not want to know what was going on behind emerald eyes, Vincent knocked back the potion like it was a shot of cheap alcohol.

His face distorted in disgust, but he refused to spit it out. He forced himself to swallow.

A chilling sensation flooded through him, before taking a complete one-eighty. Vincent felt like his insides were liquidizing and he was thrown back out of his chair. He never hit the floor, Peter had caught him. Opening his mouth, he tried to say something, but nothing came out. His mind was fighting to hold back some nameless thing, until finally...

Lifetimes flashed before his eyes. Of his early life on the streets, of being lured away by a malevolent shadow, of _Neverland_. And _Peter Pan_.

And Peter _ripping his heart out_.

Surging upwards, Felix scrambled out of the brunette's hold.

“Felix-”

“ _No!_ You don't get to speak!”

Taking a deep breath, Felix fell back against a couch, keeping an eye on Peter, who sighed and took a seat across from him.

“I was hoping this would go better,” the brunette began.

“You ripped my heart out. _Literally._ ”

Practically growling, Peter jumped to his feet and began to pace agitatedly, clever eyes assessing the blonde, who remained steadfast with a glare.

“You're not going to forgive me, are you? No matter what I say?”

“You're not even going to _try_?” Felix questioned, indignant.

“Do you _want_ me to?”

“What happened to 'Peter Pan never fails', to 'Peter Pan cannot be stopped'? If you want something, you get it; so clearly, this is just another game to you, one I am not playing.”

Peter stopped, looked at him. His usual smirk fell back onto his face, making Felix tense. “I didn't say I was letting you go.”

“So I'm a hostage then?”

“Call it what you want, but know that this isn't a game,” Peter drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and adopting a blasé attitude.

“ _Why_ did you bring me back in the first place?” Damn Peter for always being so confusing.

“Because I missed you,” Peter slowly admitted, hesitant to reveal the truth. “Killing you was a mistake, obviously. We would probably still be alive and alright if I hadn't been so obsessed about _winning_.

“I lost you once, and that was more than enough. Do you have any idea how you have been haunting me? Living without you, dying myself; it changed things. I changed. And I realized something, and I'm sorry it took so long, _too_ long. How long have we known each other, centuries? How long have we traded those glances, _played house_? _You are mine, and you are not going anywhere_.”

Felix didn't respond to anything, watching Peter exhaust himself and waiting semi-patiently.

Leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees, Peter consented to the unasked question. “Yes, that was a confession. I love you, and I know you love me too. I'm sorry I took you for granted and killed you, and I promise I won't hurt you like that again. That's...That's going to have to be enough, I have nothing else to say.”

Nodding, Felix considered his next move. He could very well reject Peter now; despite what the brunette thought, he couldn't control him without magic. There would be no more schemes, no more death, no more bodies to burn. His life expectancy would certainly quadruple. The chances of him ending up in prison or otherwise detained wouldn't be so insanely high. He wouldn't have a persistent stalker following him day in and day out, mentally recording every little thing Felix did. There would be no late nights, skipping school and work, violations of personal space that more than likely counted as sexual harassment.

No more Peter. None of the sassy banter, the childish arguments, the trickery, the morbid fun, the adrenaline, the feeling of being important, the looks exchanged between them; simply being there, _doing_ things together.

Life could be long, and happy, and prosperous. And boring and empty.

Or it could be short, and tragic, and painful. And challenging and fulfilling.

Felix never was a coward that took the easy way out. And a part of him, a rather large part, was incapable of learning anything. He was still loyal to Peter, still held fondness for the brunette, considered him the only family he could ever _need_ in life. Because the idiotic, demented boy was his other half.

And he had killed him. Killed Felix. The one thing that the blonde had least suspected would ever occur actually happened. And nothing even fucking came of it. Peter still lost; worse, he _died_.

“I can't promise that I will ever be able to forgive you,” the blonde began.

Peter was about to say something, but stopped himself when Felix gave him a pointed _look._

“But this is a new life. Neither of us are quite what we were anymore. We continue on how we were before I remembered, see what happens. If it works out, if we save this, great. If not, we can say we tried and have no more regrets. _However_ , if you go back on your word even _once,_ I don't care how minimal the damage is. I will _fucking_ _kill_ you. Slowly.”

Peter looked positively  _elated_ . “I accept the terms. Thank you.”

“Just one more thing.”

“ _Anything_.”

Standing, Felix quickly crossed the distance between them, pulled his arm back, and punched the annoying little shit in the face.

“Felix!”

“You _know_ you deserved it. Now what's for lunch?”

“Chicken tacos?” the brunette suggested, easily sliding back into 'Peter Braxton'.

This was good. This could work.

“Alright.”

On their way to the kitchen, Peter informed: “I'm still calling you 'Felix', Felix. None of that 'Vincent'.”

“ I would prefer it, actually.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the fluff! Continue, or call it done? I'm still on the fence on it...If I did continue it would probably just be smut with a smidgen of plot thrown in. 
> 
> Hope you liked, drop a comment on your way from this page. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and leave a comment. I can't really say much here that wouldn't be a spoiler, so...Stick it out 'til next time, for more of Peter being a total creeper.
> 
> Also, that chapter title...Aren't I so creative? :P


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